


Oegipus Rex Wants His Schtick Back, Assholes

by gogollescent



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, apparently i will ship anything if vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-31
Updated: 2011-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gogollescent/pseuds/gogollescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanaya and Vriska and an uncertain kind of hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oegipus Rex Wants His Schtick Back, Assholes

There are dreams where Vriska walks in blue dusk with a boy who never died on her words, and in those dreams Vriska remembers Aradia’s white eyes and wonders why she stayed with them, all that time; why she bothered to glow and float and end the world and whatever the fuck else it was ghosts did, when she could have walked through her own memories and felt the green warmth of remembered moonseasons on her skin. 

There are also dreams where Vriska sits in the darkness beside her mother’s memory, counting all the fragile barriers between mandibles and skin- air and time and the suspended truth of her own lost body. There are dreams where she thinks maybe she knows exactly why Aradia chose the indifference of fate over a fortunate afterlife.

It’s in the dark, with the sound of her mother scuttling back and forth across her pedestal huge in her ears, that Kanaya comes.

She doesn’t even notice her approach: she comes from behind, and the clack of her heel on the stair is indistinguishable from the continuous folding of chitinous limbs. Vriska sees light bloom on the surface of her lusus’s milky eyes, eight white moons forming sudden and terrible in the dark, and then there is a hand on her shoulder. 

Vriska tries to scramble to her feet, thinking for a moment that she’s going to be pushed off the ledge. Thinking:  _no, god fucking shit, I will throw you off first-_

\- but the hand holds her in place.

Not that it matters, once she sees who it is. There are some people who will never be anyone’s dinner. Vriska knew that Kanaya was one of them the very first time she trolled her, and in the sweeps since Kanaya has only grown more inedible, more lovely and more impossible to swallow.

She’s glowing. It hurts Vriska’s eyes, the back of Vriska’s head; the back of Vriska’s ribcage, too, a thin bright ache that maps the course of blood.

“Heyyyyyyyy,” says Vriska, slowly. 

In another memory she might have felt a blue bruise form on her cheek; but here her wriggler’s terror of her inheritance makes her invulnerable to newer wounds. And Kanaya doesn’t try to punch her again. Her fingers fan out, grip relaxing, until her fingertips just barely brush Vriska’s clavicle. Vriska straightens, a little, and Kanaya’s fingers slide until they’re resting on the very top of the vestigial gland there, which is basically the first place from the base of Vriska’s horns down where the meat of her body begins to soften. 

People who don’t get eaten always eventually eat, Vriska knows.

“Shouldn’t you, like, not be here?” she asks. “Ever?”

“I took a nap,” says Kanaya. Her thumb hooks into the back of Vriska’s neck. This time, Vriska can see small muscles tauten; can see hollow places form in the white stretch of her forearm.

“Oh. Yeah. Dream bubbles. Silly me! Stupid girls can’t always remember the rules to their shitty postmortem jails-“

Kanaya makes out with her, sloppily. The drag of her mouth across Vriska’s is slick and vicious and hot, like the smear of blood on a guillotine’s leading edge. “ _Fuck_ ,” says Vriska, and then she says nothing at all.

She thinks of brilliant skin no mandibles will break. She thinks about how she did not expect to find out what Kanaya tasted like, while she lived: and now she’s dead, and Kanaya tastes like monsters, in the dark.


End file.
